Auf den Felsen
by The Weaver Atropos
Summary: A lot of things can happen when one's injured and another isn't. Without medicine, things sometimes have to be done the old fashioned way. On the rocks. 1x2


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_**Auf den Felsen  
**The Weaver Atropos  
((Time Frame)) 05/21/05--08/30/05  
((Comments)) Full of cliches, but I'm beyong caring about that sort of thing...  
((Warnings)) 1x2; alcohol (its a minor element, though)_

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**Auf den Felsen **

Heero shivered as the boy's hand skimmed down the plane of his back, touch fleeting, but thorough. The night air caressed his naked torso, and he felt another, stronger shudder run through his body. Duo's fingertips stilled at his shoulder blades, and he bit down the urge to arch his back toward the touch. When those fingertips flattened into palms, and they brushed along the underside of his right side, he flinched, and drew in a sharp breath. "There."

Broken ribs for sure.

Duo hesitated, but moved his hands over the spot once more. Like before, Heero let out another noise of pain. "Three broken, two bruised."

Heero shifted slightly, eyebrows coming together at the discomfort. "It's still another three miles from our checkpoint, isn't it?"

The braided youth nodded, and cast his comrade a skeptical look when the latter made to stand. "Think you can walk?"

A glare.

It wasn't as though they had much choice. Heero looked off toward the distance, "Yeah. I'm fine."

* * *

They stumbled into their checkpoint sometime later, Heero breathing a bit more shallowly than he had been earlier, clutching his side uncomfortably. Duo cast the youth another concerned glance, and felt his eyes widen as Heero knees buckled. 

If there was one thing to be said about being a gundam pilot, it was in regard to one's reflexes.

Duo caught Heero by the shoulders before he could fall. "Shit, Heero."

The boy grunted in response. Though the amethyst eyed man's touch wasn't rough, it wasn't incredibly soothing, either. "Let go."

After a momentary pause, he did.

Heero drew in another labored breath, and took a few more steps towards the couch, lowering himself precariously onto its dusty surface. Despite his efforts, pain was clear on his face. Duo looked about himself helplessly, trying to find anything that might help assuage the discomfort. They didn't have a first aid kit—that had been left stupidly behind because Heero had been too much of a stubborn bastard to admit his condition earlier on.

"We can use…" he looked around the small safehouse imploringly and threw open a nearby cabinet, "…towels. As binding."

Heero wasn't up to arguing—nor questioning the hygiene of using an old, dusty towel that had been residing in what might as well have been a termite-infested wood cabinet for _god_ knows how long—so he gave a sharp nod instead. "As for pain…well—I'd settle for some strong, _strong _vodka and brandy…which, apparently, were left here by the last inhabitants. Or it could be Dr. J fore-seeing your current state." He gave a wicked grin.

"Whadda ya say? Some brandy or not?"

"Just pour a damn glass, already." He would have disagreed under normal circumstances. He wasn't a drinker—he had never like alcohol, whether it be in champagne or the strongest of liquors. But, much to his dislike, he'd been forced to develop a tolerance to the stuff, courtesy of Dr.J himself. The "weapon" couldn't have any weaknesses, after all. And that way there'd be no method to pump the Perfect Soldier for information—even is he _was_ tipsy. Which he never was, but that was beside the point.

Duo did as he was told, pouring the thick, caramel-tinted liquid into a large mug and settling it carefully before his comrade. "I'll go raid the bathroom for some sort of muscle cream…that whole Icy-hot stuff works well on bruises…or broken bones," another reassuring grin. "Save some for me, will ya?"

Duo liked to drink. He'd seen him do it many times. At school dances when they'd dormed together, at Relena's birthday parties…the list was endless. He figured it had something to do with the way he'd grown up—alone, surrounded by males, and with very little positive influence from adults.

He closed his eyes and tried to ease his contracted muscles as he relaxed against the couch, taking a cautious sip from his drink, and frowned when it burned its way down his throat. He had half a mind to bear the pain without any sort of help from alcohol. That stuff hurt just as much.

"Back," the voice was a whisper at his ear, and his cheeks twinged a little at the proximity. Duo always did thinks like that—come up behind him, nuzzle him…things anybody else would get a broken nose for trying. But it was Duo…and some larger, more compassionate part in him understood that there were certain things that—despite his less than ideal youth—he had had better than Duo; the braided youth was just an utter mess in regards to everything in his past. He thought himself cursed—a bad omen, a 'death.'

"Take off your shirt, will ya?"

Heero tried. "Oh man. You can't even move. Why'd you keep on walking so much? You could have punctured a lung or something." Duo shook his head as he gripped at the edges of Heero's tank, pulling upwards slowly and deliberately. The Japanese man raised his arms accordingly, wincing slightly and growling low in his throat.

Amethyst eyes narrowed at the sight that followed, "Geez, Heero…half your torso is black."

Heero didn't bother corroborating the fact; the pain had been signal enough of exactly how badly he'd been injured. He took another swig of brandy despite himself. Duo eyed him strangely, "Better hope you have a tolerance to the stuff…otherwise you're gonna be rolling on the ground soon."

"You're about to put that stuff on me and bind me up."

And that meant jostling him. Considerably. However heroic his nature might be, he had no intention of suffering through Duo's nursing. Not that the youth was bad at caretaking…he just tended to be a bit rough in his eagerness.

Duo reached for the tube of muscle ointment just as well, in time to watch Heero's throat bob as he drank down more of the stuff, and undid the cap and slathered his hands with the balm. He rubbed his hands together, feeling them warm, and gently applied the cream to Heero's bruised ribs.

Heero drew in a sharp breath at the touch, closing his eyes despite himself, and swallowing a particularly large amount of liquor as Duo's hand roamed. He wasn't numbed yet, per say, but he was considerably less in touch with his senses…so much so that the pain had somehow morphed into something different, and seeing Duo—crouched before him, knees on the ground, long slim fingertips reaching upwards to continue to apply the salve to his injuries, provoked a different kind of sentiment altogether.

"Let me get the binding."

Another swig. He might as well go for the bottle next time. Duo set it in front of him when he returned with the towel. "You're gonna need it for this one, buddy. Binding's never fun."

"Give me a few seconds, then."

Amethyst eyes blinked in surprise as Heero somehow managed to down what was left of the brandy in a mere second. "Allright." His voice was hoarse…deeper than Duo ever remembered hearing it—and it reminded him that Heero was man…and a strong one at that. He looked away and reached for the towel.

He looked incredibly alluring, then, he had to admit. Cheeks flushed in that way that tan gets rosy, eyes slightly lidded, hair tousled and skin warm to the touch. He was relaxed, too, and that scowl had made a freak disappearance. This was who Heero _should_ have been.

"Move up a bit."

Heero did as he was ordered, sliding closer toward the edge of the couch, opening his legs a little wider so that Duo could better maneuver himself. The braided youth reached around him, wrapping his arms around his torso without really touching him, and pulled the towel tightly forward. Heero grunted. "Sorry."

The tie was done in a few seconds, and Duo remained where he was, crouched at Heero's feet, eyes drinking in his form like a thirsting man. "I didn't know you were such a drinker."

"I'm not."

"Then you must be in a lot of pain."

He would never admit it, Duo knew. But the fact that an entire bottle of brandy had just been drowned by his comrade was enough to prove it. "Stay here, I'll write up the report. No use having you move every second."

His only reply was an unfocused nod.

Heero watched, gaze half-lidded, as Duo pulled out his laptop, freeing it from the ridiculous amount of restraints he kept it in, and booted it up accordingly. "Ya know," he began, his voice that mellow timbre that rocked him to carelessness, "You should probably lie down."

"No."

_I can't move_.

A single word that seemed to say so much more.

"Oh?" Violet eyes blinked upwards at him curiously from their perch amidst a full, heart-shaped face. "You're more comfortable like that?" Duo shifted in his position, a good six feet away—the only place he'd found an outlet—and glanced toward him inquisitively.

"I'm fine."

He watched as Duo watched him, gaze trained on him despite the fact that he was typing furiously.

"You know," again he shifted, frowning a little as the ingrains of the unfinished wood floor rubbed against the back of his thighs, "I broke five ribs once," he glanced at him almost knowingly, "and it hurt like hell."

Heero listened, as though transfixed, numbed by the alcohol and enjoying the ever changing quality of the man's voice. "How'd you break them?"

"Fell from Deathscythe."

Duo nodded at the memory, closing his eyes a little with a wince as he recalled the constant pulsating pain that had throbbed through his torso, "Never thought I'd get through it."

He paused then, returning to the mission report, wondering exactly what Dr. J would say when he opened the mission file to find that _other_ hands had touched the prized possession of _his_ prized weapon. A bit of a wry grin pulled at his mouth.

"How's the salve working?"

"It isn't."

Startled, amethyst eyes riveted upwards. "Not in the least?"

Heero's attempt at a shrug was enough of an answer.

"God. You should've said something. Honestly," he rose then, clicking a few buttons on the machine before pushing it shut, and made towards him, grabbing at the impromptu first aid kit on the way there. "Gotta take off the binding, then."

He kneeled before him, in that same way he had before, and wrapped his arms about his middle, fingertips just barely—and unintentionally—teasing at his flushed and tender skin. When his hand bumped against Heero's abdomen, and the latter ushered in a sharp breath as a result, he breathed out a soft apology against his skin. "You're damn near black."

He'd piled the towel bindings next to him on the couch, and his eyes darted quickly about the room. "I don't…really know what—you should lie down."

Heero said nothing, simply studying him from behind heavy bangs. His vision was foggy, and a strange sort of lethargy was beginning to govern his senses. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he wasn't being as discreet with his glances…and were it not for his injuries, he might have already reached out towards Duo.

His hair had always been something of a mystery for him. He'd never met anyone with hair that long—be it man or woman. It had attracted his attention—his fascination, even—and he'd been struck, as of late, with a desire to touch it…to feel it between his fingertips. He'd pondered at the softness of the tresses…of how they'd smell—of how they'd look…and in all those images, in all those yearned for moments…there was always Duo and there was always him—

"Gah, I need a drink."

And suddenly he was gone, rummaging in that closet, braid flat against the plane of his back. He returned in mere seconds, popping the cork off the bottle with practiced ease, and raised the gaudily labeled Kristal as in a toast before taking a deep gulp. His gaze simply followed him, taking in the way amethyst eyes fell shut as he drank, and way the muscles in his arms tightened as he raised the drink—the way his bangs would disperse, exposing more of the young man's milky flesh.

He put down the bottle with a bit of a bang, leaning over Heero to place it on the table, and glanced sheepishly toward the injured man on his return. He lifted the bandages absently, as though unsure what to do with them, and locked eyes with him. _What now? _

And Heero wasn't much help either, staring at him absently…blue eyes hazy and dreamy.

"Heero?"

No answer.

"You okay?"

Still, no reply.

He turned away, making to stand, when soft, warm fingertips tightened about his. His eyes roamed habitually toward his comrade, taking in the small nose, large expressive eyes, and pink, frowning mouth. He was about to speak, fingertips curling reflexively against Heero's, when the latter fell forward against him, eyes closed and lips searching.

He was startled, initially, at feeling the warm bundle that fell into his arms—more at the fact that the other was injured—and relaxed when he felt Heero relax, tasting the familiar tang of liquor on the other's lips and smiling a little against them.

His hold on the bindings fell slack as his other hand sought out Heero's face, and he was vaguely aware of the glinting bottle in the distance.

_O w a r i_

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_All right. **Huge** alternate ending which none of you will ever get to read, because it would have been an alternate **chaptered** fic…which didn't fit the description. In any case…the plot was a bit absent…but some 1x2 loving's always needed. As for the drinking bit...eh, I'm not supportive of it, but it spoofed up in the plot._


End file.
